Part 4

— Your Majesty needs at least two million. The horses alone will cost five hundred thousand livres. I shall have the honour of sending one million six hundred thousand livres to Your Majesty this evening.

— What, said the king, one million six hundred thousand livres!

— Wait, Sire, replied Fouquet without even turning towards Colbert, I know that four hundred thousand livres are missing. But that gentleman of the intendancy (and over his shoulder he pointed with his thumb at Colbert, who was turning pale behind him), but that gentleman of the intendancy… has in his coffers nine hundred thousand livres that belong to me.

The king turned to look at Colbert.

— But… said the latter.

— Monsieur, Fouquet continued, still speaking indirectly to Colbert, Monsieur received one million six hundred thousand livres a week ago; he has paid one hundred thousand livres to the guards, seventy-five thousand to the hospitals, twenty-five thousand to the Swiss, one hundred thirty thousand to provisions, one thousand to arms, ten thousand to incidental expenses; I am therefore not mistaken in counting upon nine hundred thousand livres that remain.

Then, turning half towards Colbert, as a disdainful chief does towards an inferior:

— Take care, Monsieur, he said, that those nine hundred thousand livres are delivered this evening in gold to His Majesty.

— But, said the king, that will make two million five hundred thousand livres?

— Sire, the five hundred thousand livres extra will be His Royal Highness's pocket money. You hear, Monsieur Colbert, this evening, before eight o'clock.

And with these words, bowing respectfully to the king, the superintendent made his exit backwards, without honouring with a single glance the envious man whose head he had just half shaved.

Colbert tore his Flemish lace in rage and bit his lips until they bled. Fouquet was not yet at the door of the cabinet when the usher, passing beside him, cried:

— A courier from Brittany for His Majesty.

— Monsieur d'Herblay was right, murmured Fouquet, drawing out his watch: one fifty-five. It was time!

Chapter LXXVI — Wherein d'Artagnan finally succeeds in laying his hands on his captain's commission

The reader knows beforehand who the usher was announcing in announcing the messenger from Brittany.

This messenger was easy to recognize. It was d'Artagnan, his habit dusty, his face inflamed, his hair dripping with sweat, his legs stiff; he was painfully lifting his feet to the height of each step on which his blood-stained spurs rang out.

He caught sight, on the threshold, at the moment he was crossing it, of the superintendent.

Fouquet smiled and bowed to the man who, an hour earlier, had brought him ruin or death.

D'Artagnan found, in his goodness of heart and in his inexhaustible bodily vigour, enough presence of mind to recall the good welcome of this man; he therefore bowed to him also, rather out of kindness and compassion than out of respect.

He felt upon his lips that word so often repeated to the Duke of Guise: "Flee!" But to utter that word would have been to betray a cause; to say that word in the king's cabinet and before an usher would have been to ruin himself uselessly without saving anyone.

D'Artagnan therefore contented himself with bowing to Fouquet without speaking to him, and entered. At that very moment, the king was wavering between the surprise into which Fouquet's last words had just thrown him and the pleasure of d'Artagnan's return.

Without being a courtier, d'Artagnan had a gaze as sure and as rapid as if he had been one.

On entering, he read the devouring humiliation imprinted upon Colbert's brow.

He was even able to hear these words that the king was saying to him:

— Ah! Monsieur Colbert, so you had nine hundred thousand livres at the superintendency?

Colbert, suffocated, was bowing without replying. All this scene therefore entered d'Artagnan's mind through his eyes and ears at once.

The first word of Louis XIV to his musketeer, as if he wished to oppose what he was saying at that moment, was an affectionate greeting.

Then his second was a dismissal to Colbert.

The latter left the king's cabinet, livid and staggering, while d'Artagnan curled the hooks of his moustache.

— I like to see one of my servants in such disorder, said the king, admiring the martial soiling of his envoy's clothes.

— Indeed, Sire, said d'Artagnan, I thought my presence at the Louvre urgent enough to present myself before you thus.

— You bring me then great news, Monsieur? asked the king, smiling.

— Sire, here is the matter in two words: Belle-Île is fortified, admirably fortified; Belle-Île has a double enclosure, a citadel, two detached forts; its port contains three privateers, and its coastal batteries await only cannon.

— I know all that, Monsieur, replied the king.

— Ah! Your Majesty knows all that? said the musketeer, stupefied.

— I have the plan of the fortifications of Belle-Île, said the king.

— Your Majesty has the plan?…

— Here it is.

— Indeed, Sire, said d'Artagnan, that is it, and over there I saw the like.

D'Artagnan's brow darkened.

— Ah! I understand, Your Majesty did not trust me alone, and sent someone, he said in a tone full of reproach.

— What matters it, Monsieur, by what means I learned what I know, since I know it?

— Be it so, Sire, resumed the musketeer, without even seeking to disguise his discontent; but I shall permit myself to say to Your Majesty that it was hardly worth making me run so much, risking twenty times to break my bones, only to greet me on arrival here with such news. Sire, when one distrusts people, or thinks them insufficient, one does not employ them.

And d'Artagnan, with a thoroughly military movement, stamped his foot and let fall upon the parquet a bloody dust. The king looked at him and inwardly enjoyed his first triumph.

— Monsieur, he said after a moment, not only is Belle-Île known to me, but Belle-Île is mine besides.

— Very well, very well, Sire; I ask no more, replied d'Artagnan. My discharge!

— How! your discharge?

— Doubtless. I am too proud to eat the king's bread without earning it, or rather to earn it ill. My discharge, Sire!

— Oh! oh!

— My discharge, or I take it.

— You are angry, Monsieur?

— There is cause for it, morbleu! I stay in the saddle thirty-two hours, I run day and night, I perform prodigies of speed, I arrive stiff as a hanged man, and another arrived before me! Come! I am a fool. My discharge, Sire!

— Monsieur d'Artagnan, said Louis XIV, resting his white hand upon the dusty arm of the musketeer, what I have just told you will in no way prejudice what I promised you. Given word, kept word.

And the young king, going straight to his table, opened a drawer and took from it a paper folded in four.

— Here is your commission as captain of the musketeers; you have earned it, said he, Monsieur d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan opened the paper briskly and looked at it twice. He could not believe his eyes.

— And this commission, continued the king, is given you, not only for your voyage to Belle-Île, but also for your brave intervention at the Place de Grève. There, indeed, you served me most valiantly.

— Ah! ah! said d'Artagnan, without his mastery over himself being able to prevent a certain redness from rising to his eyes; you know that also, Sire?

— Yes, I know it.

The king had a piercing gaze and an infallible judgement when it was a matter of reading in a conscience.

— You have something, he said to the musketeer, something to say and that you do not say. Come, speak frankly, Monsieur: you know that I have told you, once and for all, that you had full frankness with me.

— Well! Sire, what I have is that I should have preferred to be named captain of the musketeers for having charged at the head of my company, silenced a battery or taken a town, than for having had two poor wretches hanged.

— Is that truly what you tell me?

— And why should Your Majesty suspect me of dissimulation, I ask you?

— Because, if I know you well, Monsieur, you cannot repent of having drawn the sword for me.

— Why, that is where you are mistaken, Sire, and greatly so; yes, I repent of having drawn the sword because of the results that action brought about; those poor men who died, Sire, were neither your enemies nor mine, and they were not defending themselves.

The king was silent for a moment.

— And your companion, Monsieur d'Artagnan, does he share your repentance?

— My companion?

— Yes, you were not alone, it seems to me.

— Alone? where?

— At the Place de Grève.

— No, Sire, no, said d'Artagnan, reddening at the suspicion that the king might have the idea that he, d'Artagnan, had wished to monopolise for himself the glory that belonged to Raoul; no, morbleu! and, as Your Majesty says? I had a companion, and even a good companion.

— A young man?

— Yes, Sire, a young man. Oh! but I congratulate Your Majesty, she is as well informed of the outside as of the inside. Is it Monsieur Colbert who makes all these fine reports to the king?

— Monsieur Colbert has told me nothing but good of you, Monsieur d'Artagnan, and he would have been ill-advised to tell me otherwise.

— Ah! that is fortunate!

— But he has also spoken much good of that young man.

— And that is justice, said the musketeer.

— In short, it appears that this young man is a brave fellow, said Louis XIV, to sharpen that sentiment he took for vexation.

— A brave fellow, yes, Sire, repeated d'Artagnan, enchanted, on his side, to push the king onto the subject of Raoul.

— Do you know his name?

— But I think…

— You know him then?

— For some twenty-five years, yes, Sire.

— But he is scarce twenty-five years old! cried the king.

— Why, Sire, I have known him since his birth, that is all.

— You affirm that to me?

— Sire, said d'Artagnan, Your Majesty questions me with a distrust in which I recognise a character quite other than your own. Monsieur Colbert, who instructed you so well, has he then forgotten to tell you that this young man was the son of my intimate friend?

— The Vicomte de Bragelonne?

— Why, certainly, Sire: the Vicomte de Bragelonne has for father Monsieur the Comte de La Fère, who so powerfully aided the restoration of King Charles II. Oh! Bragelonne is of a race of valiant men, Sire.

— Then he is the son of that lord who came to find me, or rather who came to find Monsieur de Mazarin, on behalf of King Charles II, to offer us his alliance?

— Exactly.

— And he is a brave fellow, this Comte de La Fère, you say?

— Sire, he is a man who has drawn the sword for the king your father more times than there are yet days in the blessed life of Your Majesty.

This time it was Louis XIV who bit his lips in turn.

— Well, Monsieur d'Artagnan, well! And Monsieur the Comte de La Fère is your friend?

— But for nearly forty years, yes, Sire. Your Majesty sees that I do not speak to you of yesterday.

— Would you be glad to see this young man, Monsieur d'Artagnan?

— Delighted, Sire.

The king struck upon his bell. An usher appeared.

— Call Monsieur de Bragelonne, said the king.

— Ah! ah! he is here? said d'Artagnan.

— He is on guard today at the Louvre with the company of gentlemen of Monsieur le Prince.

The king had scarce finished, when Raoul presented himself, and, seeing d'Artagnan, smiled at him with that charming smile found only upon the lips of youth.

— Come, come, said d'Artagnan familiarly to Raoul, the king permits you to embrace me; only, tell His Majesty that you thank him.

Raoul bowed so gracefully, that Louis, to whom all superiorities knew how to please when they affected nothing against his own, admired that beauty, that vigour and that modesty.

— Monsieur, said the king addressing Raoul, I have asked Monsieur le Prince to consent to yield you to me; I have received his reply; you belong to me therefore since this morning. Monsieur le Prince was a good master; but I hope well that you will not lose by the change.

— Yes, yes, Raoul, be easy, the king is a good sort, said d'Artagnan, who had divined the character of Louis and who played with his self-love within certain limits, well understood, always reserving the proprieties and flattering, even when he seemed to banter.

— Sire, said then Bragelonne in a soft and charming voice, with that natural and easy eloquence he inherited from his father; Sire, it is not from today that I am Your Majesty's.

— Oh! I know that, said the king, and you mean your expedition to the Place de Grève. That day, indeed, you were well mine, Monsieur.

— Sire, it is not of that day either that I speak; it would ill befit me to recall so slight a service in the presence of a man like Monsieur d'Artagnan; I wished to speak of a circumstance that made an epoch in my life and which consecrated me, from the age of sixteen, to the devoted service of Your Majesty.

— Ah! ah! said the king, and what is this circumstance, tell me, Monsieur?

— Here it is… When I left for my first campaign, that is to say to rejoin the army of Monsieur le Prince, Monsieur the Comte de La Fère came to conduct me as far as Saint-Denis, where the remains of King Louis XIII await, upon the last steps of the funereal basilica, a successor whom God will not send him, I hope, for many years. Then he made me swear upon the ashes of our masters to serve the royalty, represented by you, incarnated in you, Sire, to serve it in thoughts, in words and in deeds. I swore, God and the dead received my oath. For ten years, Sire, I have not had as often as I should have desired the occasion to keep it: I am a soldier of Your Majesty, nothing else, and in calling me near him, he does not make me change master, but only garrison.

Raoul fell silent and bowed.

He had finished, and Louis XIV was still listening.

— Morbleu! cried d'Artagnan, that is well said, is it not, Your Majesty? Good race, Sire, great race!

— Yes, murmured the king, moved, yet not daring to manifest his emotion, for it had no other cause than the contact of an eminently aristocratic nature. Yes, Monsieur, you speak truly; everywhere you were, you were with the king. But in changing garrison, you will find, believe me, an advancement of which you are worthy.

Raoul saw that there ended what the king had to say to him. And with the perfect tact that characterised that exquisite nature, he bowed and withdrew.

— Have you anything further to teach me, Monsieur? said the king when he found himself alone with d'Artagnan.

— Yes, Sire, and I had kept this news for the last, for it is sad and will clothe European royalty in mourning.

— What do you tell me?

— Sire, in passing through Blois, a word, a sad word, echo of the palace, came to strike my ear.

— Indeed, you frighten me, Monsieur d'Artagnan.

— Sire, that word was pronounced by a huntsman who wore a crepe upon his arm.

— My uncle Gaston d'Orléans, perhaps?

— Sire, he has breathed his last.

— And I am not warned! cried the king, whose royal susceptibility saw an insult in the absence of this news.

— Oh! do not be angry, Sire, said d'Artagnan, the couriers of Paris and the couriers of the whole world do not run like your servant; the courier from Blois will not be here before two hours, and he runs well, I warrant you, seeing that I did not overtake him until beyond Orléans.

— My uncle Gaston, murmured Louis, resting his hand upon his brow and enclosing in those three words all that his memory recalled to that name of opposing sentiments.

— Eh! yes, Sire, so it is, said d'Artagnan philosophically, answering the royal thought; the past flies away.

— That is true, Monsieur, that is true; but we have left, thank God, the future, and we shall try not to make it too gloomy.

— I leave that to Your Majesty, said the musketeer, bowing. And now…

— Yes, you are right, Monsieur, I forget the hundred and ten leagues you have just travelled. Go, Monsieur, take care of one of my best soldiers, and, when you are rested, come place yourself at my orders.

— Sire, absent or present, I am always there.

D'Artagnan bowed and withdrew.

Then, as if he had come only from Fontainebleau, he began to pace the Louvre to rejoin Bragelonne.

Chapter LXXVII — A Lover and a Mistress

While the wax tapers burned in the château of Blois around the lifeless body of Gaston d'Orléans, that last representative of the past; while the burghers of the town composed his epitaph, which was far from being a panegyric; while the Dowager Madame, no longer remembering that in her young years she had loved that lying corpse to the point of fleeing the paternal palace to follow him, and was making, twenty paces from the funeral chamber, her little calculations of interest and her little sacrifices of pride, other interests and other prides were astir in all parts of the château where a living soul could penetrate.

Neither the lugubrious sounds of the bells, nor the voices of the chanters, nor the glow of the tapers through the windows, nor the preparations for burial had the power to distract two persons placed at a window of the inner court, a window we already know and which lighted a chamber forming part of what was called the small apartments.

Moreover, a joyful ray of sun—for the sun appeared to trouble itself very little with the loss France had just sustained—a ray of sun, we say, descended upon them, drawing perfumes from the neighbouring flowers and animating the very walls. These two persons, so occupied not by the death of the duke but by the conversation that was the consequence of that death, were a young girl and a young man.

The latter, a fellow of some twenty-five or twenty-six years, with a look now bright, now sly, duly played off two immense eyes covered with long lashes, was small and brown of skin; he smiled with an enormous but well-furnished mouth, and his pointed chin, which seemed to enjoy a mobility nature does not ordinarily grant to that portion of the face, sometimes stretched very lovingly towards his interlocutrix, who, let us say, did not always draw back as rapidly as strict propriety had the right to require. The young girl, we know her, for we have already seen her at that same window, in the light of that same sun; the young girl offered a singular mixture of finesse and reflection: she was charming when she laughed, beautiful when she became serious; but, let us hasten to say, she was more often charming than beautiful.

The two persons seemed to have reached the culminating point of a discussion half bantering, half grave.

— Come, Monsieur Malicorne, said the young girl, will you at last consent that we speak reason?

— You think that is easy, Mademoiselle Aure, replied the young man. To do what one wishes, when one cannot do what one can…

— Good! there he is tangling himself in his phrases.

— I?

— Yes, you; come, abandon that attorney's logic, my dear.

— Another impossible thing. Clerk I am, Mademoiselle de Montalais.

— Damsel I am, Monsieur Malicorne.

— Alas! I know it well, and you overwhelm me with the distance; therefore, I shall say nothing to you.

— But no, I do not overwhelm you; say what you have to tell me, say it, I wish it!

— Well! I obey you.

— That is truly fortunate!

— Monsieur is dead.

— Ah! pest, that is news! And from where do you come to tell us that?

— I come from Orléans, Mademoiselle.

— And is that the only news you bring?

— Oh! not at all… I come also to tell you that Madame Henriette of England arrives to marry the brother of His Majesty.

— Indeed, Malicorne, you are insupportable with your news of the last century; come, if you take also this bad habit of mocking, I shall have you thrown out.

— Oh!

— Yes, for truly you exasperate me.

— There! there! patience, Mademoiselle.

— You are showing off thus. I know well why, go on…

— Say, and I shall answer you frankly yes, if the thing is true.

— You know that I have a mind to that appointment of lady-in-waiting which I was foolish enough to ask of you, and you husband your credit.

— I?

Malicorne lowered his eyelids, joined his hands and assumed his sly air.

— And what credit could a poor attorney's clerk have, I ask you?

— Your father does not have twenty thousand livres of income for nothing, Monsieur Malicorne.

— Provincial fortune, Mademoiselle de Montalais.

— Your father is not for nothing in the secrets of Monsieur le Prince.

— An advantage limited to lending money to Monseigneur.

— In a word, you are not for nothing the craftiest fellow in the province.

— You flatter me.

— I?

— Yes, you.

— How so?

— Since it is I who maintain that I have no credit, and you who maintain that I have.

— Finally, my appointment?

— Why, your appointment?

— Shall I have it or shall I not?

— You shall have it.

— But when?

— When you wish.

— Where is it, then?

— In my pocket.

— How! in your pocket?

— Yes. And, indeed, with his mocking smile, Malicorne drew from his pocket a letter which Montalais seized like prey and read with avidity.

As she read, her face lit up.

— Malicorne! she cried, having read, in truth you are a good fellow.

— Why so, Mademoiselle?

— Because you might have made me pay for this appointment and you did not.

And she burst out laughing, thinking to disconcert the clerk. But Malicorne bravely sustained the attack.

— I do not understand you, said he.

This time it was Montalais who was disconcerted in turn.

— I have declared my sentiments to you, continued Malicorne; you have told me three times laughing that you did not love me; you embraced me once without laughing, that is all I need.

— All? said the proud and coquettish Montalais in a tone where wounded pride pierced.

— Absolutely all, Mademoiselle, replied Malicorne.

— Ah!

That monosyllable indicated as much anger as the young man could have expected of gratitude. He shook his head tranquilly.

— Listen, Montalais, said he, without caring whether this familiarity pleased his mistress or not, let us not argue upon that.

— Why so?

— Because, in the year I have known you, you would have shown me the door twenty times if I did not please you.

— Indeed! Upon what pretext would I have shown you the door?

— Because I have been impertinent enough for that.

— Oh! that, it is true.

— You see well that you are forced to admit it, said Malicorne.

— Monsieur Malicorne!

— Let us not be angry; therefore, if you have kept me, it is not without cause.

— It is at least not because I love you! cried Montalais.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”